Ice Cream and Ketchup
by Bellalyse Winchester
Summary: I vow to continue to further the Secker genre. Hasn't everyone at some point had to fight a glass ketchup bottle? Only the captain could turn the worst night of Sarah's life into the best. Read and Review, constructive criticism is appreciated.


**I own everythi-I mean nothing. NOTHING. **

**I wrote this in about three hours while watching Monday night sitcoms and having writer's block, so it's probably not my best, but I like it. Introducing, from the deep dark crevices in the unnatural mind of Bellalyse Winchester:**

Ice Cream and Ketchup: or, the Recipe for Secker

Sarah found herself utterly incapable of extracting that _damned_ thick red sauce from its edifice of clear, once-molten sand.

That is to say, she couldn't get the ketchup out of the glass bottle.

Bloody fancy restaurant.

She hated imagining how silly she must look to that handsome man across the table, thrumming the overturned bottle with her fingers and jerking it up and down vigorously.

"Need help?" Becker asked. She pressed her lips together into a thin line.

"No," she said stubbornly after a moment. A dot of ketchup appeared on her diced potatoes and she winced. A tiny, teensy little speck of ketchup. She'd always been teased that she put ketchup on her potatoes but that was just who she was. Now, because some idiot manufacturer thought glass ketchup bottles were an advantageous idea, she sat here across from the most gorgeous man she'd ever met in her entire life using all of her concentration to force a few drops of ketchup onto chopped tubers.

Becker sat silently as she continued to struggle in loosing ketchup from the bottle. She supposed she might as well ask for another bottle, as there was only a tiny amount of ketchup in this one at all, but she gritted her teeth and continued to bounce it up and down.

When finally a massive blob of ketchup was expelled, where should it go but her new yellow dress?

She looked from the splash of ketchup to Becker in horror and grimaced.

"Oh, God…" she murmured. "I have to-go clean up."

"Yeah." Becker nodded, biting his lip as Sarah quickly mopped most of it up with her napkin and stood to go to the bathroom.

It wasn't like it would help anything. Her dress was ruined-dabbing it off with a napkin was not the most scientific nor the most effective way to dry clean, and the red stain was at least an inch and a half in diameter. She scrubbed at it with water and a brown paper towel, which got rid of the fierce ketchup stench, but did nothing for the stain.

That was the last time would ketchup on her potatoes. Or would go to a fancy restaurant. And, considering how much of an idiot she'd made of herself, it was the last time she'd go on a date with Becker.

She mustered up all her self confidence-all that she had left, anyway. Which wasn't much. She grimaced and decided she had to come out of the bathroom eventually. She didn't want to dine and dash off on Becker.

She found him twirling a few strands of his pasta about his fork, then cupping a spoon to it and lifting it to his mouth. Why did he have to be so perfect?

"Hey," she said, snatching up her napkin and holding the clean side over the stain.

"Hey," Becker replied with concern. "You okay?"

_Damn him for making a correct assumption,_ Sarah thought furiously as she forced a smile onto her face. "No-Yes, yes, I'm just a klutz."

"I don't know why they make the bottles glass," he said, sounding a little too complacent. "That sort of thing happens to everyone."

"Yeah, whatever," Sarah said quickly. She snatched up her fork and began shoving food into her mouth. She wouldn't have to talk if she was eating.

This worked up until the bloody plate was empty, and she downed her wine in one swallow. Becker must've noticed; he ran his tongue over his lip uncomfortably and fingered his own glass before bringing it to his lips and tasting it.

"Er…so how are you?" he asked tentatively.

Sarah pursed her lips thoughtfully. How was she…? What sort of unreasonable question was that? "I guess I'm okay," she said, shrugging. She realized her leg was shaking under the table as the server came, taking their plates.

"Would you like dessert?" the woman asked, batting her eyelashes at Becker. He took one look at Sarah, glanced at his watch, and shook his head.

"No…we have to get going," he said, and Sarah was speechless.

"Um-what?" she hissed under her breath. He bit his lip, shaking his head quickly at her and looking back up at the server.

"I'll get the check," the woman said brightly, turning on her heel and throwing Becker a look over her shoulder. Sarah stared at Becker a moment before grimacing and looking away. Well, had she expected it to work out? Not really, but she had hoped…

After they left, they climbed into Becker's car. They drove in silence for several miles, Sarah staring sullenly out the window while the captain drove.

"Sarah, why are you so quiet?"

Sarah shrugged. "Oh…just tired." She was tired, of course. So it wasn't really a lie.

Becker looked at her, almost seeming upset. "I hope you're not too tired," he said quickly. Sarah looked at him, absolute confusion in her eyes, and he looked back to the road. "Not-I don't mean-" He stopped himself, shaking his head quickly. "I just…have something planned."

Sarah furrowed her brow. "Could you tell me what?" she asked. She didn't suppose it much mattered, until Becker flashed her a sly grin.

"Look, I'm sorry about that restaurant-way too stuffy," he said. Sarah felt the corner of her mouth twitch upwards. "I didn't like the looks of it, but I thought you might-I'm glad you didn't," he added. "I've got a better place in mind, if you're up for it.

They drove along for several minutes, Sarah's eyelids creeping down and threatening to force her into sleep, though she wanted to remain awake to see what Becker had waiting for her. In the end she blinked open finally to see a neon sign proclaiming _Andrea's Soft Serve_.

Sarah's mouth fell open in pleasant surprise. "Becker, are you serious?"

"I know it's not ritzy," he shrugged, "but I think we'll appreciate this more than that restaurant."

Sarah nodded slowly. "I think we will," she agreed.

Thirty minutes and a large ice cream cone each later (Becker's was chocolate, Sarah's vanilla), they were laughing as they lay back on the hood of Becker's car, their fingers sticky from messily licking up ice cream.

"This was the best part of the night," Sarah said. "Right after the ketchup, of course."

Becker rolled his eyes, shaking his head happily. "Ice cream and ketchup. I never thought that was the secret ingredient."

Sarah shook her head. "I don't mean this, the ice cream. I mean this, sitting here in a dress totally ruined by ketchup with a totally gorgeous man."

She was surprised by her own boldness but didn't stop smiling. Becker turned his head, raising his eyebrows.

"So I'm gorgeous now, am I?" he smirked, and she blushed. "I always thought I have more of those 'rugged good looks', not _gorgeous_, but whatever you say."

Sarah smiled. "Okay, you got me. It's totally the ice cream. Ice cream and ketchup."

"Ice cream and ketchup," Becker agreed.


End file.
